Owned by the Bad Boy(53)
“I agreed to go with you to lunch because you threatened to take away my son. That doesn’t mean you get to touch me.”
He grabs my elbow roughly, and my heart speeds in my chest at the ferocity in his voice.
“You don’t get to dictate the terms. I have all the power. You’re unfit to be a mother if you stay with that jackass.”
I look around the street, begging the people who walk by for help with my eyes. He slips his arm around my waist and grins at them while I scream inside my head. He’s crazy. Dangerous. I need to go.
But Frank won’t let me go. He drags me into an upscale place that we’re both not dressed up for, but the hostess smiles brightly at him and guides us to a table.
“Officer Boucher, nice to see you back so soon.”
His arm glides around my shoulder and I bristle as he leads me into the restaurant. We didn’t bring the car seat, so I sit at the table with Étienne still strapped to my chest.
“I can hold him for you—”
“Tell me whatever it is you need to tell me, and then I want to go home.”
Under no circumstances will I let this fucking cop touch a hair on my son’s head.
Officer Boucher sighs as he sits back into the uncomfortable wooden chair, looking waxen under the light. His features are unnaturally stretched thin, like someone who had too much plastic surgery.
“My wife and I used to come here often.”
Oh, fucking great.
“You don’t understand. I know what I must seem like to you, but I am trying to protect you.”
“You’re not doing anything but making it easier for people who want to hurt me.”
“I had a wife just like you,” he says, cutting right through my speech. “We had a baby together. Michelle.”
For a moment I forget about my outrage. “You never told me you had a daughter.”
“That’s because every time I mention her, I have to also mention that she’s dead.”
His eyes slowly fill with tears.
“What?”
“I was a new cop. I worked a lot of overtime, and I already had a reputation for being tough on organized crime. So one night, one of the gangs did a drive-by at my house. She—she was hit.”
An emptiness somewhere in the pit of my stomach gapes open, the ugly maw swallowing every joyful feeling. I want him to stop talking. I don’t want to know any more.
“I heard the noise. My wife and I were untouched. We ran to the baby’s room—”
“Stop.”
He raises his head and wipes away tears with his massive thumb.
“It was a biker gang. We caught them all.”
This at least explains his mental state. Just thinking about having my boy ripped away from me springs tears to my eyes.
“I’m sorry about your daughter. I can’t imagine what that was like.”
I don’t want to imagine.
“You have no idea.”
My palms grip the edge of the table. I feel sorry for him, but I still want him out of my goddamn life. “How does that have anything to do with Luc and I?”
He slams his fist on the table, startling me. “You’re married to a fucking gangster! You’re putting your son at risk just by being involved with him.”
I push the chair backward and stand up. It’s not true. Johnny Cravotta is an asshole, but he’s not known for organizing drive-by shootings or harming children.
I have to get away from this man.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
I slip away from the table and run to the bathrooms, ducking into a small alcove where there’s a pay phone.
No other choice.
My heart hammers hard against my chest as I pick up the phone and dial 9-1-1.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m at a restaurant and a man won’t let me leave. His name is Frank Boucher. I’m here with my son and I’m scared.”
“All right ma’am. Which restaurant?”
“It’s called Meson. Please, hurry.”
The operator assures me that they’re on their way, and I peek around the corner to watch Frank at the table. He checks his watch and throws glances my way. Then finally officers in blue arrive at the restaurant. I told them where I was.
Frank stands up the moment he sees them.
Fuck. Fuck!
They make a beeline for him. One of the two male officers bends toward him as the other approaches me. He’s young with a slightly grizzled beard.
“Ma’am, are you—?”
“I’m the one who called, yes. Please get me out of here. I just want to go home.”
Étienne wakes up from his nap and starts a fitful cry.
“Okay, just hold on a second.”
He ushers me through the restaurant, and then I see Frank’s hand patting the other cop’s back and wearing a grateful smile. Oh no. Oh no.